


alstroemeria

by unhappyrefrain



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Agender Character, Alternate Universe - College/University, Aromantic Character, Autistic Character, Blind Character, Dissociative Identity Disorder, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Light-Hearted, Living Together, M/M, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Nonbinary Kurapika, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polyamory, Queerplatonic Relationships, Slice of Life, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, everyone is in this fic, except for illumi, illumi is dead, killua uses he/ae pronouns
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-19 22:15:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3626232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unhappyrefrain/pseuds/unhappyrefrain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The flower of friendship.</p>
<p>(Or, the college AU where the main four + Alluka live in a mod right next to the Phantom Troupe, Gon is an excitable autistic environmental studies major, Killua likes to play rhythm games and make out with aer best friend, Kurapika has a lot of conflicting emotions about everything, Leorio is a mostly hardworking pre-med student with a tendency to crash every party, Alluka sleeps half the day and has a large collection of stuffed animals, and aside from the constant annoyance of Chrollo and his friends living on the other side of the wall, everything is finally okay.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. let the stars shine bright (and carry you home)

**Author's Note:**

> this is going to be a disjointed collection of oneshots and drabbles in the same universe. the first chapter is the first on the timeline, but otherwise i'm not even going to try to put them in chronological order except for the development of relationships. 
> 
> the rating MAY go up in later chapters and so will the number of characters and ships. when i reupload day dream it will probably be either here or in the same series.
> 
> i really needed to cope with my conflicting phantom troupe / main four feelings, especially after uvo and paku died, so i made something lighthearted where everyone (except illumi because fuck illumi) is alive. also i'm keeping hisoka FAR away from gon, sorry not sorry

"You are _joking_."

The tone in Kurapika's voice is a warning sign. Gon's ears perk up from across the room.

"What? Joking about what? Lemme see," he says, scrambling over to where Kurapika is standing next to the four-poster bunkbed. "Is it about rooms? It's gotta be about rooms."

"Yes, Gon, it's about rooms," Kurapika sighs exasperatedly. "All four of us have a mod together, which is the good news."

"Then what's the bad news?"

"Gon, don't get them riled up," Killua calls from the top bunk, placing aer feet flat on the ceiling. Kurapika whips around, notices aer position, and waves their fist.

"You're going to kick a hole in the wall! Don't do that anymore, Killua!"

"Eh, fine," ae says, and jumps straight out of the top bunk, falling almost seven feet and landing like a cat. Ae saunters over to the desk corner, sprawling out on the spinning chair and picking up the arcade style IIDX controller.

"God dammit, Killua," Kurapika huffs, then turns back to Gon. "Ae's going to be on that thing all day."

"Kurapika! What's the bad news!" Gon bounces on the balls of his feet. "Tell meeeeee..."

"Fine. Okay. The bad news is that we're in the same building as--" Their eyes start to glare red, just as Leorio walks through the door, pushing it open with his foot. "--as Chrollo and his... friends."

"You mean the Phantom Troupe? What kind of name for a friend squad is that anyway?" Leorio interrupts. Kurapika turns, and at seeing the look in their eyes Leorio swallows his words and settles in on the couch, dropping his heavy briefcase on the carpet with a satisfying thump.

"Oh, well, that's not so bad! As long as we avoid them! They won't bother you if you don't pick any fights," Gon says, his grin positively brilliant. Kurapika literally has no idea how he's so positive all the time. It must be in his blood.

"It doesn't work like that, Gon," Kurapika sighs, leaning up and ruffling his hair affectionately. "Chrollo loves to mess with me."

Gon's face falls; then he frowns. "Well that's not very nice," he grumbles. "I'll give him a piece of my mind if he messes with you."

"Not a good idea," Killua pipes up. "He's tough. Ah-- damn, I broke my combo! _Gon_ , look what you did--"

"It's your fault you turned around to talk to me in the first place!"

"I didn't even turn around! I nearly passed this song and now look! I'm here bickering with you!"

Their voices are lively. It's almost calming, Kurapika thinks, to hear things going the way they always have-- the two partners half-jokingly arguing, just to see the looks on each other's faces, to hear the expressiveness in each other's voices.

Leorio walks over to sit down on the bottom of the other bunkbed.

"Can you believe we'll still be living together this next year?"

"Yes, but no," Kurapika says, somewhat nostalgically. "I keep thinking about how long we've been in the same halls, or houses, or mods. Since freshman year."

Leorio laughs. "Yeah, we got roomed together the first year and then it just didn't change."

Gon is next to Killua, jumping up and down on the legs of the spinning chair, trying to throw aer off. He pulls too hard on the side and immediately, before anyone can react, the arm of the chair snaps off with a terrifying crack, and Killua screeches. Kurapika jumps. Gon, who is now on the floor, scratches the back of his head and grins sheepishly.

"Are you serious? You're going to get us killed!" Killua yells, waving aer arms around frantically.

"Not really," Leorio says. "I mean we're moving out of here soon, so it's not like we'll need the spinny chair..."

"You're going to get _yourself_ killed first," Kurapika says through gritted teeth. "If that had gone any differently you could have cracked your head open on the side of the desk! What were you thinking?!"

There's a beat of silence. Then Gon says, "I wasn't!"

Killua doubles over in laughter, slamming aer head on the desk.

"You really weren't thinking, were you!"

"Nope!"

Gon _really_ does not know how to be anything but brutally honest. It's one of his defining characteristics, actually. He barely has a filter, and when he does, he chooses not to use it. On one hand, he never tells a lie; on the other hand, he gets himself and others in trouble more than necessary. It's both endearing and inconvenient, Kurapika thinks as Killua's raspy laughter fills the room.

Kurapika flops backwards, looks intently at the underside of the top bunk, where Gon keeps his photographs and letters and memories between the slats of the frame. "We _are_ going to have to pay for that, you know. Speaking of which, Leorio, did you go through the housing inspection forms?"

"Yeah yeah blah blah," Leorio responds. When that earns a frown from Kurapika, he corrects himself. "Uh, yeah. I did. They're all submitted except for the broken items one, because I basically expected _someone_ to break something before we left--" Gon laughs again nervously-- "so if I just submit that one with the correction on it we should be cleared to move."

"Wait a second." Kurapika peers over the computer screen, looking at the list. "How did I not see that before?"

Gon makes a sound equivalent to a question mark.

"Agh, I must have missed it-- the mods fit five, and she wasn't on the list before. Killua," they prompt, turning to the small form on the couch now absorbed in another round of rhythm games, "did Alluka just get in for the spring semester?"

"Shit, you're right!" Killua springs up from the couch, leaving the game running. "I had to put up with a lot of shit from the family so she couldn't start in the fall, but-- did it really come through just now?"

"I guess so," Kurapika answers, straightening the paperwork on the desk surface. "So Alluka's going to be living with us too?"

Gon whoops in approval. Killua's smile is so big it takes up what seems like half of aer face. "Yep."

"Is there anything I need to know about her living habits?"

"She sleeps a lot, and she's pretty clean except she'll probably bring like a hundred stuffed animals," Killua says, counting the points on aer fingers. "She takes really short showers because she gets dysphoric, and she _will_ steal chocolate if it's left in the open."

"Just like you!" Gon yells, which earns a shout of protest from Killua.

"Also you need to call me if anything happens concerning Nanika, because I don't think Nanika has met you all yet. That's... basically it," Killua concludes, steepling aer hands.

"Kurapika, what kind of question is that to ask right off the bat when we get good news like that?" Gon queries, no hostility, genuinely curious.

"I just-- well," Kurapika starts, but a quiet blush and short smile creeps into their expression before they can stop it. "I didn't want to get too distracted by how glad I was when I heard."

Leorio _sniffles._

"Leorio, are you crying? Oh my god, you really _are_ crying," Kurapika realizes, and sits Leorio back down on the bed, one arm around his shoulders. "I can't believe you. What are you doing?"

"Shu'up," Leorio mumbles. "'M not crying."

"Yes you are."

"Listen, I'm just glad she's safe," Leorio says. Kurapika tugs him closer, letting him lean on their shoulder even though their height difference is astronomical. Gon and Killua look at each other, the gaze they share both knowing and anticipatory.

This is going to be a good year.

  
  



	2. you forget you were ever alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Leorio's family phone calls, Alluka's gem show, and an unexpected development.

If there’s one thing Leorio has never been good at, it’s getting off the phone with his family. Kurapika notes this as they hunch over on the couch, scribbling absently at the margins of the homework in their lap. He’s been talking for _hours_ \-- he said he’d be done in hopefully thirty minutes, if he was lucky, but apparently today Leorio was not lucky. This is usually about the time of day where everyone retreats to their favorite work spots, Killua sprawled out on the floor next to Gon in the room they share with an array of various papers spread out in front of them, Alluka in her room curled into the little space where she keeps her bed, under its own frame, with a blanket spread over it like a canopy and stringed-up Christmas lights above her.

Kurapika works in the main room, either on the couch or at the kitchen table, while Leorio usually sits across or next to them. Sometimes they both reach for an eraser, or Leorio tries to pick up a book, and their hands touch, and it always comes through Kurapika like a jolt of electricity-- it’s distracting, and for a few minutes after the fact all they can think about is light contact, furtive glances, the prickle of Leorio’s stubble against their chin. But they compartmentalize it, put it away, in a place where it’s been collecting for years, and make another note in the margins of their reading.

Not today, though. Leorio’s been on the phone since he got back from classes. He gestures wildly while he talks, his voice reflecting his movements perfectly, sometimes indignant, sometimes all hearty laughter. Leorio smiles with all his teeth, Kurapika notices, a bright reflective grin that could rival Gon’s. He’s clumsy and endearing, his emotions always on display, and it makes Kurapika’s heart warm in ways that they can’t quite explain.

Of course, it would all be a _little_ more heartwarming if he weren't always so _loud_ while they’re trying to do their homework.

“...And the other day our professor just didn’t show. Mamma, you should have seen it, we waited there for ten minutes before someone just got up and left! I didn’t know if I was supposed to leave or not so I just sat there reading, and when I looked up, everyone else had already disappeared.” Leorio shrugs, letting out a big sigh. “Luckily my next class was in the same building...”

Kurapika can’t help themself but to listen in on the conversation. Leorio’s family’s voices are so loud that Kurapika could have heard every word if it wasn’t in such a deep Italian accent. Every so often there’s loud, jubilant yelling, as another uncle or sibling comes onto the line to greet Leorio, and eventually he slips into Italian, laughing and chattering and pacing as he talks. Kurapika almost wishes they could understand what he’s saying, get a glimpse further into Leorio’s life outside the comfort of campus. Leorio’s pretty open about most everything, but there’s only so much Kurapika can ask.

Their thoughts are interrupted by Killua shouting from the other room.

“Oi! _Leorio!_ You’re way too loud, Gon’s getting restless.” A pause, and then; “And I have no fucking clue how Alluka sleeps through all this.”

Leorio’s face contorts into exaggerated rage. He sets the phone down on the kitchen table and roars back, “Go study somewhere else then!”

“No, fuck you! Go take your call outside!”

“Killua, I don’t think this is a good idea--"

“You know it’s raining out there! Do you want me to catch a cold?!”

“If it’d make you shut up!”

Kurapika sits back down on the couch and buries their face in their hands. A door creaks slowly open, the sound of tiptoes on hardwood floors. They look up, and their face softens when they see Alluka-- in her bunny onesie, no less-- blinking sleepily in the harsh fluorescent light.

“Alluka?” Kurapika asks, hesitantly.

“Mm?”

Leorio’s head swings around; seeing Alluka, he picks up the phone and mumbles what sounds like some parting words in Italian, then finally presses the end button on the flip phone and stuffs it back into his pocket. Alluka pads over to the couch, her footsteps muffled by the softness of her onesie feet.

“Everyone stopped fighting now, right?”

“Yeah,” Leorio says, face cast in remorse. “Sorry. We took it a bit far that time.”

“That’s okay, I was just worried.” She blinks, then settles down on the couch next to Kurapika, picking up the TV remote. “Guess what we should do?”

“Watch your gem show?”

“Watch my gem show!” Alluka giggles, lets Leorio flop down on her other side. Kurapika looks fondly at her, long choppy dark hair cascading over her shoulders, and wonders when the last time she cut her hair was. Her face is youthful, all soft light even though her skin is just as pale as Killua’s, and Kurapika notices her eyelashes are growing out, her vocal register higher. She seems perfectly happy, comfortable, and although Kurapika knows she still struggles with looking in the mirror after a shower, Alluka is doing so well.

After all, Kurapika is the person Alluka confides in. Kurapika is who she comes to after getting misgendered in public, wondering what she did wrong, assuming it was her fault. Kurapika is who she tells about her progress on HRT, bragging about the new softness on her hips and chest. Kurapika is who she does voice training with, who talks to her about their own gender woes, who aside from Killua, she trusts most with this part of her.

Someone else tiptoes into the room, flicking off the lights while Alluka turns off the TV. It’s Killua, ruffling his own hair and dragging Gon in behind him. Alluka leans into Kurapika’s shoulder-- the couch can fit five people, but Gon and Killua insist on sitting all over each other and Leorio won’t move to the left to make room for all of them.

“Move-- _Gon!_ You’re taking up like half the corner!”

“Sorry I’m a foot taller than you, Killua.”

“You shut up! You’re only like, _five_ inches taller. That’s nowhere _near_ a foot. And anyway, that has nothing to do with how much horizontal space you're taking up!”

“Don't talk math to me, I don't understand it!”

“You two!” Alluka shrills, selecting her favorite episode. “We are going to watch the one with Stevonnie and you are not going to talk through it!”

“Whaaaat,” Killua groans. Gon makes kissy noises.

“Or make out. Do that on your own time.”

“Can we watch the ocean gem one after this?” Kurapika asks quietly.

“No, I wanna watch the lion one!” Gon pipes up.

“Any _other_ complaints?” Alluka says, almost sarcastically. Kurapika didn’t know she could even _do_ that.

“Actually, yeah, I have a complaint, Killua won’t move off me and now ae’s trying to push me off the couch.”

“I’m _he_ today!”

“He’s trying to push me off the couch-- Alluka, _help_ \--"

It’s only then that Kurapika notices the large hand on their shoulder, crossing over Alluka and resting comfortably, like nothing had happened at all. Leorio’s hand. Just there. Tracing faint circles with his thumb over the texture of their shirt. Innocent, and content. It nearly makes them tremble. Kurapika wraps their arm around the back of the couch, rests their fingers on Leorio’s shoulder in turn, and it feels right.

Alluka starts the episode without further fanfare.

“We-- are the Crystal Gems--“ Leorio is the first to come in.

“We’ll always save the day!” Gon yells.

“And if you think we can’t,” comes Killua’s voice.

“We’ll always find a way!” Alluka giggles.

“That’s why the people of this world, believe in,” Kurapika joins.

“ _Garnet_ \--" Gon and Killua chorus.

“Amethyst!” Leorio adds.

“And Pearl,” Kurapika sings.

Alluka’s voice is last, enthusiastic and high, tinged with laughter and family and home.

  
“And Steven!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have this headcanon that EVERYONE in this mod loves steven universe don't question me on this  
> they all have their favorite parts of the theme song too. it's a tradition


	3. you brought the light to my eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairo meets people, and his life goes on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so i watched phantom rouge, and i'm also in ant hell currently. this resulted.

Pairo meets Kurapika when they are young, when he can still see things-- the wind in the trees, dirt clouds beneath their feet as they run through the woods, little alleys and nooks behind and between buildings. The town they live in straddles the line between urban and forested; the shrine on the top of the hill is covered in trees, where light filters down quietly leaving a dappled glow on the dirt paths, and down the hill the houses start, the concrete steps up between buildings, telephone lines swaying in the ocean breeze. There is ivy growing along the gutters, grass swaying in the cracks of the pavement, nature living beside everyone like a loyal little ghost.

Pairo meets Kurapika at the shrine. They are crying, first. Thirteen years old, sitting on the steps, head buried in their hands. He kneels down, tries to meet their eyes, red and ringed with tears.

“Are you okay?”

They don’t respond. But they do stand up, clutching their shirt in tight fists, looking at Pairo with a timid expression.

“Um,” Pairo tries, “you have blood on your clothes.”

They nod, very slowly. Pairo watches as they bite their lip.

“Did you get hurt?”

“No,” they say, voice trembling. Pairo doesn’t know what else to say. He can see the bandages under their white shirt, wrapped around where their breasts would be.

“You shouldn’t do that,” he blurts out, awkwardly, but he’s worried-- what else could he say? “There are other ways to do it. See?” Quietly, he lifts up his shirt, pointing at the two sports bras he’s layered under a tank top. “That could hurt you, the way you’re doing it.”

They freeze, mouth half-open, then close it again-- obviously trying to say something, but they can’t get it out. Finally, they point, finger shaking, at Pairo. “You’re just like me.”

“I guess I am,” Pairo says, smiling. “See? You’re not the only one.”

“I started bleeding, today,” they say, stuttering. There’s a new trust in their eyes. “It made me so sad and scared. So I came here.”

“What’s your name?”

“Kurapika,” they say, nodding resolutely. “I like the name so I won’t change it. What about you?”

“I’m Pairo.”

“Want to go get ice cream? I’ll pay,” Kurapika says, a half smile finally making its way up their face.

 

* * *

 

Pairo and Kurapika are friends.

The sun casts its light through the thick forest, illuminating the ponds where the koi drift, their fins long and flowing. Their hands rest over each others’, sitting on the shrine steps where they met. Kurapika has never had a friend, and neither has Pairo. But this is something small, something much like a seed, growing in both of their ribcages. Sometimes Pairo considers leaning over and kissing them, quick and inconspicuous, but Kurapika has ice cream at the corner of their mouth so Pairo reaches a hand out and wipes it off instead, garnering a little yelp of protest and a wave of giggles.

Kurapika likes to read. They carry a book under their arm all the time, tucked safely against their hip, like a lucky charm. Always reading, studying, learning, and Pairo peers over their shoulder as they gently, respectfully, turn the pages of their newest discovery-- an encyclopedia of birds, how to identify their calls, the patterns of their feathers. They look up through the shade of the trees and listen, tilting one ear up the slightest bit, and Pairo stays quiet, chin still resting on the crook of their shoulder as he joins the silence, broken only by the characteristic call of a robin.

“We live in such a small place,” Kurapika comments once, walking along the curb, their balance perfect even as they talk, stretch their hands behind their back. “Do you ever think of where we’ll go next?”

“Probably to college, or something,” Pairo answers, humming in thought. “But I don’t know where, or how. I’ve heard that people get scholarships, though, if they don’t have enough money to go.”

“Huh,” Kurapika says.

“You’d be much better at it than me, though,” he shrugs, looking up at the contrail that splits their sky in half. “You’re so good at school, while I’m just... I don’t know.”

“It’s because you don’t try,” Kurapika says bluntly. “But I can’t blame you. It’s boring. They don’t teach us anything really interesting. I want to learn about so many things, but there’s never enough time for that.”

“Seems like no one is actually learning anything.”

“I guess.” Kurapika sighs. The telephone lines stretch above them, intersecting the contrails lingering in the near-dusk sky. “I want to learn how things work. How humans learned so much. Why we do the things we do. I don’t know. There’s so much I need to know, and no matter how many books I can read, I can never find out.”

“Do you think we could go to the same school?”

“I don’t know,” they say again. “But I don’t want to be apart from you, Pairo.”

Pairo feels a pang, something sharp and sweet in his chest.

 

* * *

 

Pairo meets Chrollo, when he is 17, for a split second, before everything goes dark forever.

Kurapika is driving. There’s something eternally peaceful about the road at night, how when the air is warmer than the ground, the mist rises from the asphalt with a quiet insistence. Pairo has the window down, seatbelt off, staring at the streetlights with their orange-yellow glow. They’re on the undivided, windy road, the one that shoots out of their small town, a long and empty stretch of road with bridges and trees and sometimes little lights scattered far away. Kurapika drives out when their curiosity gets the better of them, when their need to move, to escape, is too strong, and they bring Pairo with them, watching as their past disappears behind them, if only for a while.

This is the early summer, before they embark on their next journey. Pairo and Kurapika made it into the same college, and it’s all either of them can think about as their senior year finally ends. Kurapika’s insatiable wanderlust has rubbed off on him after all these years, and all he can think about now is where they will go from here. Sometimes, a pang of nostalgia makes its way into his chest, when he’s least expecting it-- he catches a photographic memory of the light in the trees, the warm rain in the summer, how the ocean glows with life, and knows somehow that this, this will be what he remembers when they’re gone.

Pairo doesn’t expect it when there’s music blaring from the other side of the road, far away. Its pitch rises as it comes closer. The other car still has its brights on, and Kurapika winces, swerves into the white line at the edge of the road in order to see-- Pairo sticks his head back into the car, looks straight forward, and then freezes.

The moment before impact, Kurapika swerves so hard that Pairo’s head slams into the window, and in that second he sees the face of the other driver, as the car drives straight forward, losing no momentum, and then collides into them with a sickening, terrifying crunch. Black slicked hair, piercing eyes. He doesn’t seem to be bothered at all.

Pairo’s head whips around to Kurapika, as if knowing that the last face he would see could have been someone he didn’t know at all, and then there’s shattered glass, everywhere, and Pairo flies directly through the windshield.

Kurapika screams.

 

* * *

 

In the hospital bed, Pairo struggles to open his eyes. He’s awake, now, and as the nurses crowd around him, asking him questions, he can’t seem to get rid of the blackness that engulfs everything. He tries to crack an eyelid open, but it feels like it’s been sealed shut, or worse, like there’s nothing behind it at all.

“Do you know what your name is?”

“Pairo,” he says, his voice hoarse. “What happened to my eyes? I can’t see anything-- where’s Kurapika--"

“What year is it, Pairo?”

“2013, um, please tell me, what’s going on--"

A door slams open. Pairo recognizes the voice as Kurapika’s, twisted up with tears and nearly unrecognizable. “Pairo!”

“Please, miss, stay calm,” the nurse recites, in an attempt to be reassuring, but Pairo can literally _hear_  Kurapika wince at the title. “I need you to leave.”

Kurapika sobs, high and broken, then the door shuts, hard. Pairo wants to stand up and punch the nurse in the face, but his limbs won’t move, and his eyes ache and sting even as they’re closed.

He does discover, however, that it’s much easier to fall back asleep when there’s no way to open your eyes.

 

* * *

 

Pairo learns to read, all over again, trembling fingers over raised dots in the paper. One of his hands is occupied with the Braille work he’s doing; the other, Kurapika is holding, reminding him endlessly that they are there for him, and it’s enough.

The doctor said he would never see again. The glass was too far embedded in his eyes that they had to be removed. He doesn’t know how he looks with the fake ones, and he never will, but he’s sure it’s not what he would have wanted, so he wraps white gauze over his head, ties it and keeps it there. An eternal blindfold.

Kurapika says he looks better like that, and Pairo is inclined to trust them.

Pairo can sense it; inside Kurapika there is a rage, building over time, towards the boy and his friends that hit them that one night and then drove away. There is a rage directed inwards, that they had to be the uninjured one, that Pairo had to be the one who suffered. There is a rage at the system that was supposed to handle this case with justice; Chrollo got away on a technicality because his parents had underground connections to organized crime, or so he heard. It has been simmering inside Kurapika ever since the night of the accident, and Pairo can feel it when he presses his hands to their cheeks, checks their pulse every so often, to reassure himself that his best friend is still alive.

“Kurapika,” Pairo whispers, holding their face, running his thumbs over the bones of their cheeks. “Holding grudges won’t do you any good. I’m learning how to live again.”

“You didn’t deserve this,” they say, under their breath, so quiet that even Pairo’s stronger hearing can barely pick it up.

“It’s going to be okay.” Pairo smiles, despite himself, despite the twisting in his chest that hurts more with every passing day. “I’ll be fine. They won’t bother us any more, so, please rest.”

Kurapika sighs, tugs Pairo into their arms. “I can’t do that. You know how I am.”

“Well, I can’t change you,” Pairo admits, voice half a whisper as he rests his head against Kurapika’s shoulder.

 

* * *

 

Pairo meets Komugi when she stumbles out of the special ed class just as he feels his way in. They bump noses, not too hard, and Komugi gives a small yelp and apologizes profusely before she backs up a bit, her hands resting on the desk behind her. Pairo silently thanks her for not walking too fast, else he probably would have been bowled over.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, are you in this class too? I was just getting up to get water before class, but I guess it’s just me and you here anyway,” she says. Pairo notices her nose must be a bit stuffy, her voice sort of nasal and sniffly, but it’s almost endearing. “I’m Komugi. And you are?”

“Pairo,” he replies, in the low register he tries to use when he’s making introductions.

“Oh, okay! And uh, since I can never really tell for sure, what should I refer to you as? In terms of gender or pronouns?”

“I’m a boy,” Pairo stammers, almost shocked at Komugi’s understanding. “So, um... he is fine.”

“Got it. Pairo’s a nice name. You wanna sit down together?”

“I thought you were getting water.”

She giggles, then sighs a bit. “I was, but class is already basically starting now, so I guess I’ll have to wait.”

Pairo agrees with a hum. He retreats towards the classroom, tapping her on the shoulder as to lead her, then settles in on the single righty desk. Komugi is stumbling around a bit, heading toward the back of the classroom, before Pairo hears another set of footsteps, heavier and paced and distinctively not Komugi’s.

“Are you alright, Komugi?”

“Ah!” The start in her voice is audible. A desk creaks in the back, before Pairo hears her walk towards the source of the footsteps. “Yeah, I’m fine. I couldn’t find a lefty desk, though, and I wanted to sit with my new friend.”

“Here,” the other voice says, deep and guiding. It has a touch of haughtiness, though it seems gentle and kind while around her. Pairo has learned to read personalities from voices-- just like body language, like the way he used to see people talk with their hands, or the expressions on their faces, it’s easy to pick up on what those around him are really like, without even seeing them. “Who’s this new friend?”

“Oh! That’s Pairo. He’s in this class too. Wait, Meruem, can you find a lefty desk that’s next to a righty desk so I can sit with him?”

Meruem-- the name to the voice-- gives a sigh. “All right.” Then a shuffle between desks, some of them squeaking against the linoleum floor before Komugi drops down into one chair. “You. Over here.”

“Me?”

Pairo was right before-- Meruem _is_  haughty. “Yes, you. There’s a desk next to Komugi.” He taps the desk, audibly, and Pairo sticks his hands out to feel his way towards it.

“Um, thanks.”

Meruem almost _hmphs._  Pairo blinks, taken aback, before he takes the seat next to Komugi, who taps him lightly on the shoulder to whisper into his ear.

“Don’t worry about him. He seems really mean, but that’s ‘cause he doesn’t know you yet. He’s kind of actually a softie.”

“What was that, Komugi?”

“Noooothing,” she sing-songs. “Go on. Get to your class.”

A small huff from the doorway, and then it shuts.

 

* * *

 

Pairo meets Pitou when Meruem comes in to pick up Komugi. There’s another set of footsteps, lighter, with a swaying gait, behind Meruem’s heavy, on-beat pace. Class has just ended; Komugi jumps up from her desk, causing it to rock against the floor, and giggles as she runs up to give Meruem a flying hug.

“Oh, you brought Pitou, too,” she comments, then sniffles audibly.

“Wipe your nose,” Meruem sighs, with a somewhat affectionate impatience. “Pitou, don’t you have class?”

“Nooo,” the other voice says, distinctly high and a bit mischievous. “Our professor is sick today, remember?”

“Oh, and that’s _not_  your fault?” Komugi points out.

“Well, I can’t exactly say it _wasn’t_...” Then a pause. Meruem nearly stifles a chuckle. “Oh, who’s that? In the desk next to Komugi, you over there?”

Pairo freezes. Something in that voice is malicious, like a cat playing with its prey.

“That’s Pairo. Don’t scare him, you mean thing,” she teases. “He’s in my class too. Pairo, that’s Pitou. They’re weird and scary but they won’t hurt you.”

Pitou saunters over to Pairo’s desk, sticks their hand out in excitement. “Nice to meet you, Paaairo,” they say, their voice unnecessarily elongating the A. “Don’t hurt Komugi, okay?”

“Why would I?” Pairo says, about the same time that Komugi pipes up, “Why would he?”

“Juuuust checking.” Pitou giggles. “Oh, don’t tell the teacher I was here, she doesn’t like me too much. Let’s get along, huh?” With that, they turn audibly on their heel, their shoes clicking against the linoleum.

Pairo stands up and takes a deep breath. Komugi pats him reassuringly on the shoulder.

“I told you they were weird.”

“You’re not kidding.”

“They’re quite dependable, though. They have this odd protective complex around Meruem, and it’s kinda funny. And by extension, me, since we’re, you know.”

“ _Are_ you?” Pairo feels like he shouldn't be surprised.

“Well, I like him, and he likes me, and we haven’t stopped liking each other, so I guess so?” She gives a quiet laugh. “He’s really nice. He tries to be above everyone, and it’s hard to get him to like you, but he’s honestly so nice and considerate when it comes down to it.”

“I’ll trust you on that one. But I just don’t trust Pitou.”

“You don’t have to. Don’t worry. They... take a little getting used to. And they’re kind of malicious sometimes. But they mean well when it comes to their friends.” Komugi hums appreciatively in her throat. “Hey, want me to teach you how to play Gungi?”

“What’s that?”

“Oh, no,” Komugi laughs. “Meruem! You have to hear this! I’m gonna teach Pairo to play Gungi with us!”

 

* * *

 

The phone buzzes against Pairo’s desk. He reaches over, picks it up, a flutter in his chest.

“Hello? Kurapika, is that you?"

“Who else would it be?” The smile in their voice is audible as Kurapika floats over the line. “How are you doing, Pairo?”

“Oh, you’ll never guess what happened today,” Pairo begins. There are papers splayed across his desk; all ridged and bumpy, and the chess pieces they use as stand-ins for Gungi rolling across the surface. Briefly, Pairo remembers an image-- clouds as tall as mountains, pillars that towered in the skies that he and Kurapika stood under, marveling at everything, before they knew anything outside the borders of their small town. Clouds streaked with orange light, or white as snow against the killer blue sky. He takes a deep breath, and begins to talk. Kurapika listens, just as they always have.

The world really _is_ just as beautiful as Pairo thought it would be.


	4. the best story that i could ever tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gon and Killua and stories.

The story of Gon and Killua has been an unwinding ball of yarn, long and twisted and unbreakable. It's gotten thicker, too, more threads wrapping around the core, a braid of different colors blending into a single story. Some of these, they tell; some stay locked up between them, opened every so often like a music box, cherished, with both pairs of hands. Some are on paper, others are remembered only through dreams. 

They travel through years with stars in their hands, pools of tears and blood and honey and ink crushed between their joined palms. They have stayed the same, and it makes Killua's heart light, that the turmoil wasn't, could never  _be_ , enough to tear them apart.

 

* * *

 

Gon Freecs is 13 when he breaks his first bone. Incidentally, so is Killua Zoldyck, and the story is often the one they tell at parties; when people ask about their relationship, this is usually the only thing they have to say for them to get it.

"Gon fell out of a tree and broke his arm, and I jumped after him and broke mine, and we laid in the dirt laughing for two hours," Killua says, dismissively, the sentence he's repeated for six years. Gon's smile gets wider and wider as Killua keeps talking. "And then we tried to call the ambulance but all Gon could say about our location was 'tree' and they never found us so we walked home with our broken arms and his mom freaked the fuck out."

"She was all like, 'Gon! Killua! What on Earth did you two do to your arms!' And then we just started laughing again.”

 

(It goes like this:

They're climbing the huge beech tree at the top of the hill. The bark is smooth, rounded, not exactly easy to grip, but the branches are wide enough to use as steps. Gon and Killua have a competition to see who can climb the highest. They're barefoot, shorts and tank tops, summer bold and bright in their veins.

Gon swings effortlessly from thinner branches, almost monkey-like in his movements, as he hangs backwards and then pulls himself up onto each limb. His hands are rough and callused, grip the smooth branches with ease. Killua is quick, light, darting up between different branches and the sides of the trunk, lithe body bending in ways almost unnatural, always on the balls of his bare feet.

Gon lets out a whoop as he tops the last wide limb from the top, legs on either side of it and leaning back. Killua's lighter, though, and manages to cling enough to climb onto some of the thinner branches further up, and Gon lets out a frustrated yell.

"No fair, Killua," he mopes.

"Yes fair!"

Gon turns around on the branch to face Killua and stick his tongue out, when his ankle gets caught on a branch just below him and he twists, loses his balance-- Killua sees it before Gon even knows he's falling. Then the painful snap of a bone, not a branch, and Gon is on the ground, wincing and holding his arm, and Killua doesn't even hesitate when he leaps from his roost down to check on him.

On reflection, Killua may have forgotten just how high off the ground he had been. He _could_ potentially stick the landing from where Gon was if given enough time to prepare, but without taking into account the amount of branches in the way. He plummets, eyes darting back and forth, and then feels his arm break against an unmoving limb.

The thrill hits him before the pain does. Gon is still lying down, face half-buried in the dirt, spitting out a rock from between his teeth. There are barely visible tears in his eyes, but he's smiling so wide Killua would break his other arm just to see it again. Then the pain hits Killua, full and heady, and it makes his head pound with the sudden rush. He winces, teeth gritted, curling up around the shattered arm.

"Killua," Gon says, and then starts _laughing_. 

"What the _fuck_ ," Killua coughs out.

"You didn't need to jump _after_ me _,"_ he grins, and then stutters over a laugh. The hilarity of the situation has only just sunk in: they have both broken their arms. At almost the same time. In direct succession. And Killua's wasn't even _necessary_.

That's when Killua rolls over on his broken arm and curses, then bursts into peals of shrieking laughter.

"Gon-- holy fuck--"

"I know-- ow! Ow! Dangit!"

"Fucking-- how did this--" Killua hisses in pain-- "just _happen_? That was so _stupid_ I can't even-- augh-- _deal_ with it--"

"Should we call," Gon takes a stammering, shallow breath, through his incessant giggles, "the ambulance, or, something?"

"Yeah-- Christ, this shit hurts-- Gon where's your phone?"

"Probably, fell out of my pocket, somewhere down here," Gon gasps. "Wh-- oh, got it!" With his good arm Gon dials 911. Killua starts to worry that he won't be coherent, and almost reaches out to take the phone from him, but stops when the pain in his arm becomes too much.

"Hello?" Gon collapses into giggles again. "Hi. Sorry. My best friend and I, we, we broke our arms-- yeah-- both of us--"

Killua starts laughing, pressing his forehead into the dirt. 

"Uh... tree," Gon says, puzzled, raising one of his eyebrows. "Tree. Um. I don't know. I don't remember. Killua, we're at a tree, but where--"

"Gon, it's at the top of the hill, just hang up we have to get home before it gets dark--"

"Tree," Gon repeats, through gasps of laughter, breathless with it. Then he hangs up the phone. "Killua! Tree!"

"Yes, Gon, _tree_ ," Killua hiccups, and slowly gets to his feet without the help of his broken arm. It hangs limply at his side, and he stifles a bark of laughter at how strangely it's bent. With his good arm he helps Gon stand up, and together they start walking down the hill, steps wobbly and gradual and new against the grass.)

(This is the way it goes. Laughter through tears. Shared pain.)

 

* * *

 

Gon is also 13 when he has his first kiss. Incidentally, so is Killua.

Gon still has his arm in a cast-- he's been careless, messed it up a couple of times, while Killua's is mostly healed by now and cast-free. They're sitting across from each other on the trampoline in Gon's backyard. It's summer, and Killua keeps slapping mosquitoes off Gon's bare shoulders, vision perfect and pointed in the cloudless night. The stars are strewn over the sky like glitter on a child's hand, pressed to black paper. Gon marvels, flopping back onto the trampoline with a satisfied sigh, and pulls Killua by the wrist down with him.

Killua recognizes some of the constellations from what Gon has taught him. He knows Orion, Cassiopeia, the Summer Triangle, knows that there's a nebula as the jewel of the great hunter's sword, that there's a galaxy in Andromeda's heart, and it reminds him of Gon, how there are universes in his yellow-topaz eyes.

"It's gonna be Tanabata soon. Wanna go see the fireworks together again?" Gon asks, his voice quiet. They're holding hands-- Killua doesn't exactly remember when it happened, but it's comfortable, it feels right.

"Yeah. Sounds good."

"We can try the goldfish game again."

"You're too good at that! It's not fair," Killua complains. "I can't wait to eat taiyaki, though."

"You can get those whenever you want!"

"Not true. The good ones are on Tanabata," Killua counters.

"You're so picky, Killua," Gon sighs, affectionately, as he traces the dip between Killua's thumb and index finger. 

It's warm outside, comfortable albeit a bit damp, but a chill runs up Killua's spine anyway. "Um, can I try something?"

"Depends on what it is."

"Well, I always look at you when it's this late and, um, for some reason I get this urge to, uh, k--" Gon stops, freezing up, before he forces out the next word. "Kiss you. Best friends can do that, right?"

Killua's heart stops. He takes in a breath-- he hopes it wasn't too loud, wasn't obvious to Gon, but the boy's hearing is so sharp anyway that it's no use-- and tries to think of something, anything, to say.

"I," he stammers, and Gon's face falls the slightest bit, expecting rejection, "I don't see why not."

Then Gon smiles-- it's so gentle, though, so soft, not his usual full-faced grin, and he pulls Killua up to face him. Those eyes shine so brightly that Killua isn't sure how to breathe for a couple of seconds. His lips look soft, so soft that Killua isn't sure how he never figured it out before, that weird feeling of needing something, anything, from them. Quietly, Killua's other hand finds Gon's and overlaps.

They come together so naturally, lips meeting halfway, and Killua feels electricity move through him when Gon lets go of one of his hands and brushes the back of it against his cheek. Killua doesn't want to stop. He leans in further, pressing their lips together with abandon, hands finally finding Gon's hair and curling into it. Gon gives a little murmur into the kiss, something of quiet surprise, but he doesn't break until Killua does, gasping, feeling like the wind has been knocked out of him.

There are stars in Gon's mouth. Vaguely, Killua wonders about the freckles on Gon's shoulders, across his face, and he wants to kiss them all too, burn his lips on the universe.

"Um," Gon says, lost for words.

"I."

"That was, really good."

"Yeah."

"Wanna kiss again?"

Killua doesn't hesitate.

 

* * *

 

These are things best friends can do, Killua is sure. But he doesn't know how to address the strange clump of emotions he swallows every time he opens his mouth to talk.

Gon, as usual, stays oblivious. Killua is beginning to suspect he has no knowledge of relationships at all. Sometimes he smooches Killua on the cheek out of nowhere, eliciting a surprised yelp and a blush to the tips of his ears, but he doesn't seem to notice the change in the way Killua looks at him when he's not looking back.

Killua is beginning to feel frustrated.

 

* * *

 

Gon admits it to him one night during a particularly long conversation. It's one of their sleepovers where they do nothing but stare at the glow-in-the-dark stars on Gon's ceiling and share their stories and memories and sadness and secrets with each other, so Killua shouldn't really be surprised, but it still takes him off guard when he says it.

"Killua, I think I'm broken or something."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't... Well, have you ever had a crush on someone? Like romantically?"

"Of course I do," Killua answers, conveniently omitting the fact that his crush is lying right next to him.

"I don't get those. I don't know why people do, I just don't... feel romantic stuff, I guess. Does that make me broken?" Gon takes in a breath, then finds Killua's hand under the covers. "I still want to kiss and cuddle and talk about everything. But I don't want to be boyfriends with Killua. I want to be best friends who do that sort of stuff. You know?"

"Gon," Killua stammers. "I. You're not broken. Listen. I've actually--"

"Killua has a crush on me, I know. I have the same amount of feelings but they're like, a friend crush."

Killua goes bright red, buries his face under the covers. "Wait, how did you know?"

"I know Killua really well," is all Gon says, and gives a huff of laughter. "Do you feel a lot of things for me?"

"Yeah," Killua admits. "More than I originally planned to." He feels his heart twist around itself, exquisite pain, thinking about the amount of time he spent wondering what exactly he was feeling, and the even longer period of denial.

"Well, imagine it like this. I feel the same amount as Killua, but in a not romantic way. Does that make sense?"

Killua sighs, then wraps his hand tighter over Gon's. "Does that mean you're not weird about me liking you?"

"Nope! We can be exactly the same. Like this."

And then Gon leans over and kisses him. Killua's heart lightens a bit; he notices that nothing seems as bad as it did a minute ago, if they can just stay like this, best friends facing the world with fervor and sunshine.

"I love Killua, in a different way. But that doesn't make my love less valid, right?" Gon asks, quietly. Killua's eyes gravitate to the largest star on Gon's ceiling-sky, and slowly, he starts to smile.

"Of course it doesn't."

 

* * *

 

The story of Gon and Killua trails its way through forests, beaches, long empty mansion hallways and a city built so high that every street is a wind tunnel. It loops through chain fences and barbed wire, never severed, never broken. Just as it did, their adventure goes on.

Killua's feelings settle into platonic after a while, and it only binds them tighter together, only makes the love between them stronger. Eventually they're eighteen, accepted into the same college, and requesting housing together on the hub website over Skype.

"I wonder if we'll get placed with anyone else," Killua muses, as the echo of Gon's mouse clicking travels over the line. Gon is deep in concentration, his tongue running repeatedly over his bottom lip-- one of his stims, Killua recalls, as he finishes up the form and clicks the submit button.

"You excited?"

"Huh?" Gon blinks, then looks directly up into the webcam. "Yeah! I can't wait to live with Killua! And maybe we'll have classes together, and..."

"I dunno about that. My parents wanted me to take business classes, so we probably won't share any."

"Awwwww," Gon whines. "But we're still living together! I hope our other roommates are cool." He rests his chin between his hands, rocks back and forth on the spinning chair.

"Yeah, me too. We're gonna be stuck with them, but I'm kind of excited to meet them anyway."

Gon nods, then gives a smile that burns itself into Killua's eyes-- like the afterimage of the sun. Killua feels that warmth diffuse through him, and he lets out a long breath. There's something about Gon he can never really place, something burning hot and bright and passionate, the light he gives off that Killua can reflect. 

 

(Or at least that's what he'd like to think. But Gon has compared him to the stars instead, told him no, Killua gives off his own light. "It just feels small since you're far away," he explains once, tracing the lines on Killua's palm. "But only people who are close to you see how bright you burn."

"Like you?"

"Like me."

Killua kisses him again, then, gentle and insistent, Gon's finger halfway through detailing his life line, and that's when he realizes: the reason he never scalds himself on Gon's lips is because he burns just as bright.)


	5. the absence of apathy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chrollo never cared about anything or anyone. Besides his friends, of course.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everyone is still trans.
> 
> i was thinking about chrollo and how i consider myself split permanently wrt liking/hating him. while watching the anime, i had to kind of separate myself into parts. one part loved the phantom troupe and how silly and dysfunctional but also dedicated and tight-knit they are and loved chrollo for his selflessness in holding them together. the other part hated them for what they did to kurapika and the kurta clan. i wanted to cause the same sort of split with readers-- you're supposed to like him in context of the phantom troupe, but dislike him in context of kurapika and pairo's arc. because, really, he's an asshole. and he's supposed to be an asshole. but he's also likable within the troupe arc. it depends on the environment you have him in, i think.
> 
> kalluto is... somewhere... ze's probably going to play a part in alstroemeria at SOME point but idk when. illumi, as i mentioned before, is dead. because fuck illumi.
> 
> anyway.

Chrollo is a despicable human being toward anyone but his friends. And somehow, he's okay with this.

Since they were young, covered in dust and blood, all skinned knees and broken teeth on the streets, Chrollo has always valued his friends over himself. Of course, Hisoka doesn't count-- Hisoka is a vague annoyance, something that Chrollo can barely bring himself to care about, and he hasn't been around nearly as long. But the rest of them, the gang of childhood malcontents that grew up under the same smog-ridden sky, shared the same relic of their past together-- the somewhat embarrassing but treasured gang name, the Phantom Troupe. Chrollo had come up with it as a kid, at the top of a junk heap, waving a black flag, and it stuck.

He had decided early on that the only people that mattered to him, that walked alongside him, that shared his dream to leave the city and protected him when its jaws tried to close in, were these people. It started with six-- Nobunaga, Feitan, Machi, Pakunoda, Franklin and Uvogin-- but once they had finally scraped together enough money to flee the area, Chrollo found himself drawing in  others. Shalnark in particular he met at the police station in some suburb, while he was in custody for a petty theft-- the kid was smart, and his perpetual smile hid a surprising amount of amorality and caprice. Then Shizuku came along, at first as a companion of Machi's but soon a member of the Troupe in full. In college, they had met Bonolenov, the dancer; Kortopi, the forger; and Phinks, who was... just Phinks. Quietly, the image of the spider that Chrollo had originally conjured grew more limbs, gained stability and personality. Maybe too much personality, sometimes, in the way some members are always bickering and starting fights that never get anywhere (Chrollo thinks of Nobunaga and Franklin in particular) but, overall, allowing others in was a good investment, and he can't seem to imagine the Troupe ever feeling complete without them. There is always someone in each of his classes, always someone free around the same time, and at this point the Troupe is surprisingly domestic, living in three separate mods all next to each other in the donut-shaped buildings, and Chrollo is happy. He couldn't ask for anything else.

 

* * *

 

"Uvo, cut it out!"

"What? What am I doin'?"

"There's beer all over the carpet! Oh my God, wait till Shizuku gets her hands on this--"

Through the wall Chrollo can hear Shalnark complaining, and Uvogin doing his devil-may-care routine, as usual. Shizuku, who is sitting next to Machi on the lounge couch learning how to knit, hears her name and presses her forehead against the wall.

"Get my hands on what?" she questions, loud enough for Shalnark to hear.

"Oh _jeez_."

Machi sits fully up, takes the knitting from Shizuku's hands-- she's completely dropped it, focused on the other matter at hand. "Shizuku, don't get the wool tangled," she says, knowing that Shizuku probably isn't paying attention anyway.

"Uvo spilled beer all over the carpet," Shalnark's voice explains, and Shizuku stifles a giggle.

"Again?"

"Hey, it wasn't my fault, you were the one who decided to flop on me like some sort of beanbag while I was drinkin' two at a time!"

"This is giving me a headache," Machi sighs, but it's affectionate. "Why were you drinking two at a time in the first place? It's not even five yet. Your classes aren't done."

"'Cuz I'm bored and my last class of the day makes fuck all sense to me anyway," Uvo replies casually. Chrollo can hear him stretch backwards, letting out a long, obnoxious yawn. “Either way, won’tcha call Shizuku in here?”

Chrollo looks at Shizuku with a wordless glance. She nods excitedly and runs to her room, coming back with a rolling vacuum she designed herself, and then breaks into a half-dash as she walks out the door to the mod. Or at least, the closest she can get to a half-dash with the vacuum bumping at her heels.

Machi gives a shrug, switches the leg she’s got propped up on the coffee table, and picks up the knitting project Shizuku left behind, a gentle blush on her face as she starts another row in her absence. The sound of a vacuum starting up comes from the other side of the wall. She looks vacantly up and then at Chrollo, who walks over to take Shizuku’s seat, almost protectively sitting down next to her.

The reason for this has just gotten out of the shower, and is walking towards the common room with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist.

“God _dammit,_ Hisoka,” Machi hisses through her teeth. “Go put some clothes on before you try to interact with your modmates.”

“If you say so,” he croons, and Chrollo winces— he can literally _hear_ the tilde appended to the end of his words. Machi huffs, crosses her arms indignantly.

“When is he going to learn?”

“Never,” Chrollo says, firmly, and places his hand on Machi’s shoulder. Machi doesn’t shrug him away; instead, she leans her head exhaustedly against where his hand is situated. It strikes Chrollo how easy their communication is, how they forgo words in favor of gestures, sighs or support. 

Quietly, he watches Machi as she picks up the knitting again, starts where she left off with the new row. The sound of the vacuum is continuous from the other room, punctuated by the sound of Uvogin’s raucous laughter and Shalnark’s high complaints. 

“Where’s Pakunoda?” Chrollo thinks to ask.

“Classes,” Machi replies. “She usually finishes up around five.”

Chrollo says nothing, but both of them know it would be easier to face Hisoka if Paku were here. Right on cue, Hisoka walks out of his bedroom, grinning through catlike eyes. Machi’s reflexes kick in— she shoots up off the couch with an almost audible crack, and stares him down as he moves across the kitchen. Hisoka’s eyes never move from the refrigerator, not with Machi eyeing him like this.

The door slams open. Pakunoda strides through the doorway, letting her bag slide off her shoulder at the entryway. Chrollo sighs in relief, and Hisoka’s eye twitches the slightest bit as he digs out a spoon and takes his carton of ice cream back to his room. 

“Well,” Paku says, smiling darkly. “ _Anyway_.”

 

* * *

 

After Shizuku’s returned, dragging her vacuum behind her cautiously, Machi greets her with a small yet genuine smile and a wave of her fingers. Shizuku makes her usual curious face, rolling the vacuum into the cleaning closet, and flops down on Machi’s other side. Chrollo nods to her, a quiet acknowledgement.

“You kept knitting for me...?” Shizuku’s face is somewhat puzzled at the development.

“Is that bad?”

“Umm, maybe, yes, since your stitches are neater than mine, and it kind of looks uneven what with the way I knit...”

“Shush,” says Machi. “You’re fine.” Chrollo notices the blush creeping up her neck at this, and resolves to point it out to her later.

“Was everything all right with Uvogin?”

“Yeah,” Shizuku murmurs. “He really is a bit reckless. It’s almost time for his next class, and if I didn’t go in to help steam the carpet and everything, he would have missed it.”

“I don’t think he even cares about that class,” Machi comments, watching Shizuku work. “Hey, try pulling them tighter. Like this...”

“How do you do the thing where you close off the rows without it looking silly?”

“Um,” Machi says eloquently, lost for words when Shizuku grabs both of her hands and sets them on top of hers, in an effort to get Machi to guide her. “Here, follow my hands...”

Chrollo struggles to keep down a knowing smile when Shizuku looks just as flustered. Machi notices, and drops the knitting entirely, her hands tightly pushed into her lap as she launches over to snap in his face.

“You, shut up!”

“I didn’t _say_ anything,” Chrollo smiles enigmatically. Shizuku makes a face the equivalent of a question mark. 

And of course, Pakunoda chooses that exact moment to walk into the common room.

“Adorable,” she says simply, and gives a little laugh as Machi huffs.

“Get over here, you,” is all Machi can say.

 

* * *

 

That night is the night Nobunaga invites himself over and ends up dragging everyone else with him. Feitan paces around the kitchen looking for snacks; Phinks falls onto the second couch and stretches obnoxiously before picking up the remote. Where Machi and Chrollo had been sitting, the couch is now (barely) fitting four-- Pakunoda is pressed tight against Machi’s side, and Machi is holding back laughter as her girlfriend whispers in her ear about who knows what. Shizuku is calmly knitting, squished between Machi and Chrollo, and Chrollo himself is trying not to strain his ears and listen in on their conversation. Hisoka is sitting politely (or, as politely as someone like Hisoka can be) on the single-seater, blowing bubbles absently with his gum. Uvogin explains that Shalnark hadn’t been feeling well; that he had cramps and was not in the best mood, especially not for a horror movie. Phinks butts in at that with a “Who said we were watching horror movies anyway?” and Nobunaga pushes him off the couch.

“So remember that tiny kid who came to visit the college and hung out with Phinks and Feitan the whole time?” Franklin is saying, lugging in a twelve-pack of beer.

“I remember,” says Shizuku. “It was nice to see someone shorter than me for once.”

Uvogin busts into peals of barking laughter.

“Yeah, what about hir? Ze seemed pretty impressionable, if you ask me,” Phinks shrugs, recovering from his position on the floor and trying to push himself between Nobunaga and Franklin.

“Well, I heard ze’s got a sibling that goes here. Or two. Oh, you know who ze looks like?”

Hisoka doesn’t say his name; he’s tried to forget, for now.

“Shush, stupid,” Feitan growls, eyes darting towards Hisoka as a signal for Franklin to shut up. He’s sitting down now, piping-hot bag of microwave popcorn in his lap.

Franklin, thankfully, obliges. “Anyway. Ze’s a Zoldyck, right? Well, you know who else is a Zoldyck?”

“Oh, isn’t there someone in our building...?”

“White haired fluff asshole?” 

Franklin stands up so fast he nearly knocks the table over, and points at Nobunaga with a roar of laughter. “ _White haired fluff asshole!_ That’s it, that’s the kid!”

“Now that I think about it,” Pakunoda says, a finger on her chin in curiosity. “I know three of the Zoldycks and they’re all trans. Are there any cis Zoldycks?”

“The oldest--?”

“Nope,” Hisoka puts in flatly. “Illumi was Illumi.”

“Then, there’s only one we haven’t met.” Shizuku sort of sighs.

“If they were cis I think I’d laugh till I shit myself.” Machi adds on a whim, and Pakunoda throws her head back and laughs.

“Are we going to watch a horror movie or not,” Feitan drawls, flipping through the genres on Netflix. Before Phinks can speak, he holds up a hand preemptively. “ _No_ , Phinks, you have no opinion from now on.”

“Fuck you, Feitan.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He settles in on the couch, kicking his feet up on the coffee table. Uvogin launches an already-empty bottle at the trash can halfway across the room. Right on target. Shizuku is indignant.

“You could have at least aimed for the recycling!”

“So who’s ordering the pizza?”

 

* * *

 

Chrollo ends up doing it, since everyone else is too busy arguing over choosing the movie to order pizza.

 

* * *

 

Uvogin leaves halfway through the movie-- he claims he has to go back to check up on Shalnark, who is supposedly doubled over with cramps at the moment, but he never comes back, and it’s so obvious he’s been trembling since the first jump scare. Machi is unfazed, Shizuku is curled up against Pakunoda, and Chrollo could honestly fall asleep if his friends weren’t talking so loudly. Feitan is making snarky comments about the stupidity of every single horror movie protagonist; Hisoka is eating straight out of Chrollo’s tub of ice cream. 

Somehow, Chrollo doesn’t mind. Nothing really bothers him when he’s like this, surrounded by his motley crew, the misfits he either grew up with or took in over the years. Of course, he couldn’t make this many friends without making just as many enemies; the blonde, crimson-eyed anthropology student comes to mind. It doesn’t matter. He’ll mess with them on his own time. For now, he’s content like this.

Within minutes he’s fallen asleep on Machi’s shoulder; when he wakes up, she’ll undoubtedly flick him in the forehead and tell him not to be stupid. The common room will be a mess of empty bottles and bags of popcorn, and someone will inevitably get in a fight-- probably Franklin and Nobunaga-- and he’ll get a warning for volume, or maybe even an infraction. (He’ll deal with that later.) There will be a collective shock when they all realize there’s homework to do. Shizuku will probably already be on it. And then they’ll eventually gather up their things and drift to their rooms, eyes half-lidded with exhaustion. It will be past midnight. And somehow, slowly, finally, Chrollo will sleep.

 


End file.
